


The Treatment

by saintnoname



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alexander Pierce is a piece of actual human excrement, Castration threat (that isn't acted on), Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Gang Rape, HYDRA Trash Party, Head Shaving, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Humiliation, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, corrective rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-11 07:55:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7039546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintnoname/pseuds/saintnoname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Brock Rumlow first starts working for Hydra, he's gay and unashamed.  Hydra decides this needs to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Agent Rumlow.  Come in.  Have a seat."

"Thank you, sir."  Brock shut the door, then sat down across the desk from Pierce.  "Why'd you wanna see me?"

Pierce templed his fingers.  "I wanted to welcome you aboard.  I've read your file.  It's extremely impressive.  I think you'll do great work with us.  It's just..."  He trailed off, as if he was trying to figure out how to word something delicately.  "It seems like there may be some behaviors that could be...concerning."  He gave Brock a falsely reassuring smile.  "But we've trained that kind of behavior out of Agents before, and I'm sure we could do it again, if we needed to."

Brock's brows furrowed.  "Sir?  If you don't mind me askin'...what kind of behavior are you talking about?"

Pierce stood, gesturing for Brock to do the same.  And there it was again: that same falsely reassuring smile.  "Don't worry about it," he said, placing a too-rough hand on Brock's shoulder.  "If you don't give us cause for concern, we won't have to do anything about it.  You'll be given information about your position and mission tomorrow morning at 0800."

"Understood, sir."  Although he really didn't understand at all.  Brock didn't like having shit hanging over his head like that, and it wasn't fair that Pierce wasn't telling him what this particular shit was.  But he knew better than to ask twice.

Pierce finally released Brock's shoulder, opening the door.  "You're going to do important things," he insisted.  Pierce was halfway through the door when he stopped, and then slowly looked back over his shoulder with a smirk.  "By the way...nice hair."

 

***

 

Brock struggled as he was forced to his knees.  "Get your fuckin' hands off me!" he spat up at the assholes that were currently manhandling him.  They let go of him, but remained on either side of him.

Brock looked up as he heard the door open again.  In walked Pierce, along with a medic.  Well, that made sense: he was currently knelt on the cold, hard tiles of a medical examination room.  But he still didn't know what the _shit_ he was doing in here

Pierce smiled at him in greeting.  "Agent Rumlow!  How was your first mission?"

Brock just narrowed his eyes defiantly.  "What the hell's going on here?"

Pierce ignore his question, crouching so he was at Brock's eye level.  "I asked your supervisors how you did on your first mission.  They said your work was  _exceptional_ , but that your _appearance_ could use some improvement."

Brock bristled as Pierce reached out to muss his heavily producted hair.

"They think you look a little too pretty for a Hydra agent.  I'm inclined to agree."  Pierce stood back up and took a step back. 

Then the medic stepped in.  Brock froze as the medic reached into his pocket to pull something out.

It was an electric razor.

The men who'd dragged Brock into this room once again grabbed him, holding him in place, but as it turned out, they didn't need to.

Brock felt himself going numb as he listened to the monotonous buzzing of the razor, watched his hair fall to the floor in clumps, felt the constant pressure and vibration against his skull that occasionally got a little  _too_ rough.  It wasn't until the medic was done that Brock finally looked up from the floor.

The men who were holding him released him, and the medic stepped back to survey his work.

"Thank you," Pierce said to the medic.  "You did good."  The medic started walking toward the door, along with the men who had restrained Brock.

Pierce was the last person left in the room, with Brock still kneeling on the tile, looking up at him with bile in his eyes.

Pierce kept on looking down at him, before he finally spoke.  "Nice hair," Pierce said mockingly, then he turned around and left Brock there on his own.


	2. Chapter 2

"Agent Rumlow.  Come in.  Have a seat."

Brock stood in the doorway, then came fully into the room and slumped into the chair Pierce had motioned to.

It had been a while since he had been called into Pierce's office.  His hair had grown back, and he'd kept his head down, lest it get shaven again.  He was a good agent.  He got the job done and he got it done well and he stayed out of trouble.

Publicly, at least.

When it came to his private life, on the other hand...well, what was it to Hydra what he did in his down time?

It must've been something, because that was the only reason he could think of that he'd be here.  He was a good agent, and he got the job done well, and...

Now that it was the second time Brock had been called into Pierce's office, he was already finding patterns in the ivy.  Like the fact that he knew Pierce had called him in there to reprimand or threaten him, even though the man hadn't stated why he called him in.  He felt that the Pierce school of discipline was built around traditions.  Habits.  Rules.  Structure.

_Order_.

Everything Pierce ever did felt rehearsed, and it was a little disconcerting.  Brock was sure Pierce didn't actually plan out every single thing he said or did, but it sure came across that way.

Pierce sat down across from Brock.  He pinched the space between his eyes, then looked across the table at Brock.  "One of your fellow agents told me something...disturbing."

Shit.  So it  _was_ what he thought.  Fucking Rollins and his goddamn big mouth.  

"He told me you...propositioned him?  That you tried to get him to let you suck his--"

"We were off the clock," Brock interrupted before he could stop himself.  "We weren't on Hydra property.'

"You  _are_ Hydra property, and everything you do needs to be a reflection of that.  Now, do you think it's a very good reflection of Hydra if you proposition a fellow agent--a  _male_ agent--for sex?  If you practically beg him to let you suck his cock?"

Brock stared down at the table.  "No, sir."

"No.  No, it doesn't."  Pierce stood.  "Come with me."

Brock looked up at him uncertainly.  "Sir?"

"That was an order."  He gave Brock a smile.  "Come on.  You'll like it, I promise."

Brock seriously doubted that.  Still, he followed like a good little soldier.

Pierce led him down a corridor to a closed door.  Brock didn't like the look of the closed door.  Brock thrived on predicatability, and he honestly didn't know what was coming.  It uneased him.

When Pierce opened the door, Brock was ready to bolt, but his feet remained frozen in place.

Lined up on either side of the door were twenty men in two neat rows.  Brock had never seen any of them, and none of them were wearing pants.

Brock turned back to look at Pierce, who was wearing a gleeful grin.  "Since you enjoy sucking cock so much, I've taken the liberty of securing twenty cocks for you to suck.  Thank me."

Brock looked away, unable to handle the man's smugness.  "Thank you, sir."

But Pierce was determined to have Brock looking at him.  He took Brock's chin in his hand and turned his face toward him.  "You're going to suck every last one of these cocks, and you're going to love it.  And after that?  You're not going to suck cock anymore."  Pierce pushed Brock down onto his knees, then he turned to walk away, leaving the door wide open.

Brock tried to keep his eyes on Pierce, but the men were already circling him as he remained knelt.  

A dark laugh escaped him.   Hydra was punishing him for wanting to suck dick by...making him suck dick?  He understood, though.  God, he understood.  The idea was that if they made him do it without his consent enough times for long enough, he'd develop negative associations.  Like aversion therapy.

He closed his eyes as the first man stepped in front of him, roughly grabbing the back of his neck.  Well.  He could give one _hell_ of a blowjob.  If he put his skills to use and made them all come quickly, this would be over before he knew it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the unexpected mini-hiatus. I just moved to a new state, and I was hoping to wrap this story before I left, but there was just going to be no way, with all the stuff I had to do to get ready to move.
> 
> Also, frankly, this was the hardest chapter to write, and I knew it was going to be from the beginning, since before I even started actually writing this story. So any positive feedback would be especially appreciated. 
> 
> I've already started writing the fourth and final chapter, so hopefully there won't be too long of a wait for that chapter.
> 
> This is your reminder that Hydra are actual Nazis and the stuff they do/threaten to do in this chapter is stuff the Nazis actually did to gay men. D:

The Alexander Pierce school of discipline was built around traditions.  Habits.  Rules.

So it was when he broke from this that one knew they were well and truly fucked.

That was how Brock knew he was well and truly fucked.  The first two times he was reprimanded by Pierce, he was first brought into the man’s office, and it was later that the punishment was brought upon him.  But this time, Pierce was skipping those theatrics and getting straight to the point.

When the door was opened, Brock saw a young woman who couldn’t have been much older than eighteen, naked and lying on a cot.

Brock turned back to look at Pierce.   “Sir, what the fuck is this?”

Pierce placed his hands on Brock’s shoulders, and Brock had to struggle not to pull away from the invasion of his space.

“Brock,” Pierce said tiredly, addressing him by his first name for the first time.  “It seems you took away the wrong lesson last time.  It seems you’re still sucking cock.”

How had anyone even—he had been careful.  All the boys promised they were discreet.

“You see,” Pierce continued, “the lesson you seem to have learned was that it’s okay to still suck cock, as long as you’re not trying to suck your coworkers’ cocks.  The lesson should have been that it’s unacceptable for you to suck _any_ cock.  Even if you’re paying for it.”  Pierce let go of Brock’s shoulders, and some of the tension left them.  “Frankly, Brock, I’m at a loss as to what to do with you.  And I’ve been wondering if you’re even capable of having sex with someone who doesn’t have a cock.  So I’m giving you a choice: you can either have sex with a woman, or…you’ll be castrated.”  He sighed.  “We can’t have people like you in Hydra, running around doing the things you do.  So I’m making it very clear to you this time: you only have two options—assimilate, or be assimilated.”

Brock met Pierce’s eyes with a hint of that defiance he’d shown before his head was shaved.  “Why are you doing this?”

Pierce snorted.  “Sure, you don’t complain when I tell you to suck twenty cocks.  You fucking _thank_ me for that, but when I tell you to have sex with a _woman_ , that’s when you start asking questions.”

Never mind that Pierce had been the one who _told_ him to thank him for that.

“I had the wrong approach before.  I bet you _enjoyed_ sucking all those cocks, didn’t you?  Greedy cockgobbler.”

Brock closed his eyes to those words, but he ignored them no matter how much they stung.  He wouldn’t rise to the bait—Pierce would probably just laugh at him.  Brock didn’t need to defend himself.  No, he wasn’t thankful for his rape, and no, he didn’t enjoy it, and he didn’t need to explain that to anyone.

“Why?” Brock asked again.

“Because Hydra is all about order.  If you’re gay?  If you’re a homosexual, you’re disrupting that order.  And order only comes through pain.”  He waved a hand through the air.  “If you’re concerned about the girl, don’t be.  She’s over eighteen.  She’s almost twenty, in fact, and we have the paperwork to prove it, if you’d like to see.  And she’s not just some girl we pulled off the street without her consent.  She’s about to graduate from the Black Widow program, and this is part of her training.”

Brock looked up at that.  “The Black Widow program?  I thought that closed years ago.”

“It did.  And then it reopened.”

Brock looked away.  “Don’t make me do this.”

“Why?  Because you know you can’t?”

Brock looked back at Pierce.  “No.  Because I know I can.”

“Then I don’t see what the problem is.”  He clapped Brock on the shoulder. 

“Come on, Brock,” the girl cooed from the cot, and Brock couldn’t think about anything but how fucked up this was.

“Two hours,” Pierce said.  “Your choice: this or castration.”  And then Pierce was gone, the door locked behind him.

Brock circled the cot, the girl’s leering eyes on him the whole time.  This was wrong.  This was so wrong.  But he knew he could do it.

Brock Rumlow had had sex with women.  He had had sex with multiple women, in fact.  Which was how he knew this corrective _bullshit_ wouldn’t work on him: he had already tried it on himself.

When he was a kid, only thirteen, a gay couple was attacked in his neighborhood.  It made the news.  They both survived, but both ended up in the hospital.  It was around the time he started seeing that story on the news that he began to realize that he was like those guys who’d been assaulted.  He used to go to sleep crying at night, scared to death because he knew now what happened to guys like that, and he didn’t want that to happen to himself.

So he tried to repress it.  He tried to change it.

Brock lost his virginity when he was fourteen.  To a woman.  No, not a girl: a _woman_.  She was in her thirties, had been a woman for quite some time before Brock ever hit puberty.  It was his freshman year of high school.  She was so loose that the first time he had sex with a girl his own age, she felt so tight he felt like he was going to come almost instantly. 

When Brock was in high school, he started hearing about a new illness that affected the immune system.  Gay related immune deficiency, or GRID, it was being called.  Brock was glad not to be part of the group this disease was affecting, to not be like those men who’d been attacked in his neighborhood  when he was thirteen.  Brock wasn’t like them.  Brock could have sex with girls and women.

He was still in high school when GRID started being called AIDS, and it was learned that lots of other people could be infected, and there were lots of causes besides unprotected sex.

It wasn’t until a couple years after he graduated that Brock began to finally embraced who he was; to accept that just because he _could_ have sex with girls and women, that didn’t mean he _enjoyed_ it or

that it felt right to him.  He began to accept something he’d known since he was thirteen: that he _was_ like those men who’d been attacked in his neighborhood.  And once he accepted it, he began to embrace it.  He began to feel proud, that he had come so far from denying who he was and actively trying to change it, to being who he was without shame.

Brock circled the cot a second time.

“Come on, big boy,” the girl said, and it sounded like it was coming from a mile away.  “I know you can do it.”

Brock knew she was right.  He knew he could do this.  He _had_ to.  The alternative—being permanently maimed—was far too terrible to even consider.  But it felt like he’d be reverting back to that fourteen year old boy who lost his virginity at far too young an age to someone who was far too much older than him because he couldn’t accept who he was.  He felt like if he had sex with a woman now, all that progress he’d made in his adult life in accepting who he was would be moot.  Which he supposed was the point.  But he also knew that whatever happened, he wouldn’t change.  And, hell.  He felt that defiance creeping back.  No matter how many times Pierce tried to change him, he would _never_ change.  He would _always_ keep liking dick, and he would _always_ try to find a way around Pierce’s shitty rules.  Maybe he really was too disorderly for Hydra.  But he knew that as long as he’d be considered an asset, he wouldn’t be allowed to leave, so…

So he’d go along with it.  Pretend he changed.  He hated the thought, but he knew he could do this.

Finally, he climbed onto the cot with the girl, and he undid his pants.

The girl smirked at him.  “There we go.  There’s a good boy.”

Her words didn’t help him, so he tuned them out as he climbed between her open legs. 

He could do this.  Like riding on a bicycle.


End file.
